


Soft Sounds

by IJustWannaAskSomething



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 08:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17659394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IJustWannaAskSomething/pseuds/IJustWannaAskSomething
Summary: Sona is a Demacian.Draven hates Demacians.Sona is given to Draven to entertain him. Before fights, when he spectates them, after fights when he’s riled up.But Sona is soft and quiet and gentle, and Draven just can’t hate her.





	Soft Sounds

There was never a lack of women in Draven’s life.

Young women.

Older women.

Willing women.

Their appearance was different every time, but their willingness was all the same.

And Draven certainly preferred willing woman.

There were young Noxian recruits, clumsy but fierce, looking for a step in the ladder of success.

There were hardened soldiers like him, looking for relief before a siege.

There were dancers, flirtatious, their laughter as brilliant as their smiles.

But they were all willing.

So, Draven doesn’t really understand why there are two guards from High Command, handing him a silver chain that leads to a magic suppressing collar. There are slaves in Noxus, yes. To clean, look after children and to please. But if there is anything Draven can be proud of, it’s the never ending stream of willing lovers, not tied by shackles or chains in his bed. Unless they insist, of course. Sex is just more fun if both parties are into it. And his arena has more than enough slaves that clean up his messes and look after his room. The Fleshing provides enough respectable workplaces for Noxian citizens anyways. She is certainly not here to be executed, otherwise he would have met her in the arena, not his entrance hall.

“What is this?” he asks, irritated.

“A gift from High Command.” One of the guards replies.

“What am I to do with her?”

“Whatever you see fit, Sire.”

Draven raises an eyebrow, his irritation growing. His left hand twitches for his axe. He isn’t known for his patience.

“She is a Demacian, captured by one of our spies. She refuses to talk, even after an interrogation by your brother.” At least this explains the girls sorry state. “Lord Swain thinks, seeing her people fall in your arena will loosen her tongue.”

“So she is here as a cleaner? To wipe Demacian blood off the walls?”

The guard simply shrugs. “We are only to bring her to you, Sire.”

Draven sights and tugs on the silver chain. “Follow me servant.”

This girl irritated him, and it also interrupted his massage. Now his back is oily, and he is barefoot because High Command guards don’t wait, and he has a slave he doesn’t need. The girl has troubles getting up and when she finally manages, she stands there like a new foal, as if she were not used to her legs.

“Do you need someone to carry you?” he sneers.

The girl takes a shaking step forward. She is a sorry sight and if Draven’s life wasn’t made up of suffering, pain and despair, he might be sympathic. But still, she is a Demacian.

“Jul!” he yells, his impatience clear in his voice. His housemaster hurries to his side.

“Master Draven.” He says with a bow.

“Take her from me. Get her cleaned up, she is an eyesore to my glorious halls. Find her something to do.”

Annoyed and irritated Draven returns to his massage. Hopefully the masseuse can relieve him of his irritation.

 

…

 

Sona has never known a life without magic. Magic has always surrounded her, like a warm, caring embrace. Now, she feels cold and sick, unsteady like the world will tilt und throw her into a deep darkness.

She has also never known pain. But now the pain is everywhere, in her limbs, in her mind. The pain comes not only from the torture she endured, but also from the lack of magic. Her feet, now touching the cold marble floor, hurt like they were frostbitten. Her skin feels too tight and her head is heavy and hot.

The guards made her walk from the prison to the house. She didn’t know where they went because every step hurt like she was walking on glass shards. She hears words being spoken but she doesn’t understand them because they have no meaning to her.

She understands the tug of the chain, thought. Fire shoots up her legs when she tries to stand, and she wishes for death.

The only relief that is grated to her is the darkness that embraces her after she takes a couple of steps after the person holding her chain. Then, she knows she is falling but it doesn’t matter to her.

 

When Sona wakes again, her world still feels out of place and the pain isn’t gone. There are voices in the distance, but not directed at her. More noises appear in the background. Wherever she is, it is a busy place. A kitchen? Yes. The smell of hot oil and smoke penetrates her nose and she has to gag.

“You’re awake!” a voice booms, too loud, she feels crushed. “I am the house mother. I look after all the female servants, that means you answer to me and Lord Draven, do you understand, girl?”

Sona can’t nod, but her face is squashed in a fleshy hand. She opens her eyes but can’t but see due to too many colours mixing and swirling in her sight.

“They told me you don’t want to talk, but you won’t need your tongue for cleaning. Do your job well, because otherwise is no need to keep you alive. Rosie! Where is the stupid girl?”

Sona sits up, she is in a corner, a cold stone wall behind her and dirt beneath her fingers. She gags again. Her chain is yanked in another direction, up.

“Take her to the bath. Make her look presentable. Then, she can come and help in the kitchen, if she’s not too good for that.”

Another tug at the chain, she stumbles into its direction. Her feet are on fire again.

“So, you’re a Demacian? Hard to see one of you outside the arena.” The voice that holds her chain echoes from stone walls. They are in a hallway, the busy noises faint, Sona feels better. Her vision clears, she is following another woman, about her size.

“Too good to talk to us, huh?” The woman smirks.

_No,_ Sona thinks. _I can’t._

 

The servant’s bath is dark and only lit by a few candles. In the middle of the room is a large pool of water, small shelves against the wall hold towels.  It looks better than she expected it. Noxian servants are treated quite well. She doesn’t want to think about the treatment of slaves and prisoners thought.

“In the morning you will have ten minutes to get ready. Then there is breakfast. After that you will receive a list of tasks and you only go the sleep after you completed it. You can have a full bath once a week.”

The woman, Rosie, drops Sonas chain and lets her stand in the moist room. The sound of water is distant in her ears. The mage doesn’t feel like running away anyways.

“Here are your clothes. You were assigned to the kitchen. Kitchen staff is employed and wears red, but since you’re a slave you’re going to wear the colour of the lowest servant class.”

The simple tunic and pants she receives are in a dull colour that was probably green a long time ago. Sona isn’t used to pants, but they make her feel safer than her skirt did when she was a prisoner at High Command.

“We also need to cut your hair.” She fetches a stool. “Sit here, then you can wash and get dressed.”

Sona stares at her.

“Move, girl.”

The muse wants to cry, but there are no tears or energy left. After her torture in the Noxian prison she feels empty and exhausted. She wants to sleep but can’t. She wants to stop existing to end her suffering. Blue tresses of hair fall next to her sore feet. She wishes to be gone, just like them.

 

When she catches a glimpse of her reflection in one of the silver plates she is tasked to clean at night, she feels defeated. Her hair is short. As short as a Demacian recruit’s hair. It is almost gone. She may have been spared from death, but she might as well be dead from all the suffering and humiliation she endured.

The other servants let her feel that she is an outcast. A Demacian slave among proud Noxian workers. Darius might not have killed her, and Draven might not throw her into the arena, but will anyone ever find her in the heart of the Noxian arena, cleaning plates and scrubbing pans? If she survives the time it would take Demacia to put together a rescue team to find and save her, what will be left of her?

She must endure.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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